


Clueless and Pining

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [64]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Gen, Leliana being a bro, Pining, Sevarra is a clueless newb and needs help, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Prompt 3: Your OC goes to one (or more) of their companions/advisors for tips on how to court their LI or relationship advice Bonus Difficulty Write the flipside POV as well: Through the LI pov as they ask for tips on how to court the OC.The Grey Warden, Sevarra Amell, has a crush on her would-be assassin, Zevran Arainai. She is not experienced in the ways of wooing a man, so she asks a couple of friends for advice.





	Clueless and Pining

She scrunched her brows and thought back. In the stories she read while growing up, it was the man who did the pursuing, never the woman._ Why was that? _She remembered asking one of her teachers back in the tower why it was so; she’d been a youngling, not even 10 summers of age. The words “It’s just not done that way” were all her tutor had to say. Well, that and a lecture about how a mage should be above such “base desires” and to never allow herself to indulge such things because they would only lead to pain. Again, being not even 10 years old and wanting to be a ‘good mage,’ little Sevarra had taken Enchanter Wulff’s words to heart.

Hearts were funny things, they had minds of their own. If they fixated on something, to the Void with what your mind had to say about it. Hearts were also stubborn and outlasted the willpower of most mere mortals. The apprentice learned as she grew that her heart was extremely stubborn. When it saw a particular someone, it wanted them. Her old tutor’s words were shuffled to a dark dusty corner of the closet of her mind, seemingly doomed to never see the light of day again. Neria, the elven apprentice with the golden hair that made her think of a sun goddess? Cullen, the knight that made her think of a ray of light in a dark place? It had seen them, it had wanted them. She had each of them, for a time. But there had not been any chasing. Well, not _much._

The Warden licked her lips and spared a surreptitious glance at the object of her desire. The man, the assassin, was busily chattering with Senior Enchanter Wynne, no doubt on a quest to make the elder roll her eyes and stalk off in disgust, again. The Warden found his game amusing, even if she showed no outward approval of it. An annoyed Wynne who stormed off was a Wynne who wasn’t close enough to lecture the younger mage. Zevran’s musical laugh made her stomach feel like she’d swallowed a handful of butterflies.

For the umpteenth time in as many days, a thought came to her: _How does one court an assassin? __Would he even want to be courted?_

“_When in doubt, seek insight_” her mentors had always told her._ But_… Sevarra bit her lip and surveyed those around the camp. Fang was adorable… and also a mabari, he’d be of no help. Sten was utterly baffled by the way people did things in Ferelden; he probably wouldn’t have any wisdom to offer to a human wanting to court an elf. The young mage somehow doubted that golems courted anything, and thus ruled out asking Shale. There was no way in the Void she was going to talk to Wynne about courting! That was just _asking _to be lectured. She saw the newest addition to the party, Oghren, sleeping against a tree stump. Considering she’d kind-of-sort-of killed his late wife, --entirely in self defense!-- she decided against rubbing salt in a fresh wound. Morrigan was sat by her little campfire near her tent, separate from the rest of the group. While her views on magic were fascinating, she didn’t seem the type for relationships; nor was she all that fond of Zevran. The mage suspected her fellow Warden, Alistair, was just as clueless about courting as she was.

Zevran’s rich laugh pulled her from her thoughts, making the butterflies in her belly flutter once again. She looked his way to see Wynne walking off in a huff and grumbling. It seemed the elf had won another point in his little game of “Annoy the Senior Enchanter.” The way the firelight played off his eyes and hair only served to make her knees go even weaker. The assassin shot a wink her way as he passed by and then ducked into his tent. She could feel the heat in her cheeks blooming.

Later that evening, after supper had been picked at and the rest of the group had gone to their bedrolls to get some rest, she was standing watch with Rory. She pondered while staring upwards at the starry sky. The knight was certainly more worldly than she was and he was a kind sort. And he was a man. That was the important bit. _Perhaps he could offer some insight?_

“Can I ask you something?” she said with a trembling note of hesitation in her voice.

The ginger-haired knight looked up from the blade he was oiling. “Yes?”

“Can… can you keep it in confidence?”

A soft rumbling chuckle answered. “Of course.”

“H-how do you court a man? _Can_ men even _be _courted?” She bit her lip after the words left her mouth. She felt grateful for the darkness hiding the heat in her cheeks.

He smirked and held his chin in a hand in thought, most likely done out of playfulness rather than seriousness. After taking a painfully long time to reply, he spoke. “Depends on the man in question, I suppose.”

_Sod, that’s not very helpful, _she pouted silently. “What do you mean?”

He returned his gaze to his weapon. “Some are more traditional than others. It’s usually done the other way ‘round when there’s a lady involved. Many men prefer doing the chasing rather than the being chased part. What prompted the thought?”

It took more courage than she wanted to admit to in order to drag the words out of her mouth. “I was raised in a closed community, in a tower, such… behavior wasn’t, well, taught. Or allowed, really.”

He arched a fiery brow as he looked up from his weapon. “Not allowed?”

She nodded and fought the urge to run and find a very large rock to hide under. “They generally frown on anything that could lead to more mages being… made.”

“Being made? What the sod do you m-- Ohh.” Comprehension shone in his leafy green eyes. “I, er, see.” After a cough and an uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. “Any particular person inspire that line of thought?”

She shuffled and kicked a pebble. No words were willing to climb out of her throat. Mirth danced in his eyes while a playful smirk pulled at his lips.

“A man, eh? Is it… Oghren?”

“Ew! No! Gross! The smell alone would kill anyone’s libido!”

“Aw, maybe you’re being too hard on him! Perhaps that’s just a normal dwarven… aroma,” he teased.

“Alas, I shall restrain myself and let dwarven women partake of that particular ‘delight,’ thank you very much.”

He cackled and put his weapon away. Cupping his chin and squinting one eye, he tried again. “Is it Sten?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s even more clueless about flirting than I am. That and he’s rather skittish around magic.”

“Skittish? I’ve yet to see anything frighten him,” Rory said in disbelief.

“Try talking to him about mages some time and see if you come away still thinking that.”

He hummed, conceding the point. “What about Alistair?”

She paused and clutched just above the elbow of one arm with the other hand. Alistair was sweet, funny, kind, and --dear Maker-- unfairly handsome. It didn’t hurt that she felt safe around him, even after revealing that he’d been training to be a templar until Duncan recruited him. And he was also royalty, even if a bastard. Most decidedly restricted to ‘Look But Do Not Touch’ territory. It was not a mage’s place to be at the side of a noble or royal romantically. There were even laws against it! Perhaps if things were different… not that it mattered. She knew her place. Besides, another fascinated her far, far more.

She shook her head. “Wrong tree.”

“That leaves…. Maker’s breath, you can’t be serious. The elf? The wanker who tried to kill us!?”

“He has a name, you know,” she said with a huff.

“Yes. And he tried to kill us. Certain things make me very sore, my being one of his attempted murders being high up on the list. Aren’t you the least bit worried, by the way? All it takes is a second for a knife to go between ribs, you know,” the knight growled.

She bit back the tart reply that wanted to leap from her mouth. No use in starting an argument. As much as she hated to admit it, Rory did have a point. Zevran was, until recently, a professional assassin; one who’d been hired to kill any Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. It hadn’t been anything personal, just a contract. But they’d bested him and his little band of would-be killers; he was the only one of his group to survive. While she didn’t think he was at all sorry for attempting to do his job, he’d been an unquestionably talented addition to their group. It seemed that whenever they went into combat, he watched over her. He’d saved her from more than a few arrows in the back while they were in the Deep Roads.

So, no, she wasn’t worried. Not when his voice made her knees go weak. Not when she felt safe around him. Not when she wanted to get to know him better and… ‘get to know him better.’

“He gave his word. I believe him. That’s enough for me. Should he take a fool notion to try to ‘finish the job,’ he won’t be walking away from the attempt. I’m not as harmless as I look,” the mage said after crossing her arms.

The ginger man huffed and went back to inspecting his weapon. The rest of the watch was spent in silence until Sten and the dwarf came to relieve them. Curling into her bedroll, Sevarra wondered if she’d asked the wrong person for advice, or if she really was being as crazy as Rory said without using words. Dreams offered no respite that night; they heavily featured a certain dashing blond elf.

The next day saw the group continue their trek through the mountains, putting distance between themselves and Orzammar. The journey to the Brecilian forest would be a long one. If they were lucky, they’d reach the Imperial Highway in a couple of days and then follow it along Lake Calenhad. The mage was content to follow the others for a change. Surely they could read a map at least as well as she did. An amused giggle pulled her from her meditation upon the swaying backside of the elf walking several paces in front of her.

She turned her gaze to the fiery-haired woman walking beside her. Leliana grinned.

“You like what you see ahead of you, don’t you?” the former Sister said.

Heat colored the mage’s cheeks. “Wh-whatever gave you that impression?”

The red-head held her chin in thumb and forefinger, giving the playful pantomime of deep thought. “Aside from your obvious appreciation of the view? Hm… how about how you hang on every word when he’s speaking with you? You seem rather… comfortable around a man who tried to kill you.” Instead of the judgment that Rory had offered the other night, Leliana’s eyes were twinkling with amusement.

The mage bit her lip and looked away.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Leliana added. “Everyone has things they like, things that enchant them. Some tastes are more… adventurous than others, but if the Maker had made everyone exactly the same, it would get rather boring, no?”

The short Warden looked questioningly at her companion. _A former Chantry Sister is saying things like that? They probably would’ve kicked her out in a week or less if they’d sent her to serve in a Circle’s chapel. _

“Certain things are forbidden in the Circle,” Sevarra said softly. “Especially things of that nature.” Her gaze dropped down to her boots. Boots were safe to look at, even if not as pretty as a certain someone’s backside.

Leliana grew silent for a few heartbeats. “That’s not right. In fact, that’s cruel. Nearly everyone’s capable of falling for someone. The Maker wouldn’t give the ability to love only for it to be forbidden to some of His children.”

“Well, they do it and they feel perfectly justified in doing so. Anything to keep the curse from spreading,” the Warden grumbled.

“Curse?” the other woman asked in disbelief.

Sevarra cocked a brow. _Surely she knew what she was referring to, yes?_ “Magic. They make it very plain that they don’t want even more mages coming into the world, lest we get a repeat of what happened during the height of the Imperium’s power. They drill it into our heads very early that we were born with a weapon that we cannot sheathe or otherwise put a peace binding on. Well, there’s Tranquility, but that’s a one-way trip, and honestly, I’d rather be killed than be made to be that way.”

They walked in silence for an undetermined bit of time. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been an hour. Time was rather elastic when plodding on foot. Eventually, Leliana spoke again.

“Are Grey Warden mages expected to conduct themselves by the Circle’s rules?” she asked.

The mage had to stop herself from stumbling. Duncan’s words to her as they were traveling from Kinloch to Ostagar floated to the surface of her memory. _We do not hobble our mages. Anything that can be used to stop the Blight is allowed. Anything. It is up to you to decide where your line between ‘acceptable’ and ‘unacceptable’ magic lies._

“Uh… no. We’re allowed our own agency. Anything to stop the Blight, you could say,” the mage replied.

The former Sister smirked. “Morale is important during a war, is it not?”

“Er, I suppose so? I’ve never been in a war before.”

“There you go, not forbidden. While it’s amusing to watch you both stare at each other’s hindquarters, there comes a time for action,” Leliana grinned.

“Wait, he stares at my--?” the mage’s cheeks went crimson.

Bell-like laughter answered the Warden’s not-quite question.

Later that evening, Leliana felt a knowing smirk claim her mouth as she caught sight of the mage shyly taking a seat beside Zevran as they sat down for supper. 


End file.
